Trials and Tribulations
by DeniseV
Summary: Three of The Seven are on the trail to pick up a prisoner in Pecos. It does not go smoothly. Someone who visited town early during The Magnificent Seven's residence shows up. The briefest of mentions of another of my stories, The Best of Intentions. There is no need to read that one first.
They had slowed considerably in these last miles as they made their way to Rowe to pick up a prisoner. Judge Orin Travis, the territorial judge and the person who hired the three men on this particular mission and the four others who remained in Four Corners, insisted that the man stand trial in the town where his crimes resulted in the most harm. The seven men, the now famous Magnificent Seven, protected the town where the judge's grandson and the boy's mother and the town's newspaper publisher, Mary Travis, lived, the town where Judge Travis' son Stephen was murdered going on four years ago. People died because of this man in the Rowe town jail. Though the old judge was renowned as being tough on crime, he seemed more intent than ever to make a killer pay. He knew what it felt like to have something precious taken away so violently.

Buck Wilmington noticed his companions' change in pace; indeed, he was expecting it. His friends were stubborn men, and neither one would be the first to give in to hurts or ailments. They owned contrasting reasons for refusing to admit defeat. They were good men, but the ladies' man had taken about all he could of their stoic insistence to ignore what ailed them in order for the one to get to town in a timely manner and meet up with his cohort, the sheriff of the small town along the Pecos River, and for the other to avoid spending the night outside rather than in a lumpy, creaky hotel bed. There was simply no way it was in the cards for them to make it to Rowe before dark.

"I don't know 'bout you fellas, but my butt has taken about as much as it can take for one day in the saddle," Buck said. He'd already slowed down Clyde's pace to match the two horses that carried his companions. If they proceeded much slower, Chaucer and Milagro would simply stop and wait on direction from their riders, which seemed an unlikely proposition considering the condition of the two men.

"I'm all right to keep goin'," J.D. Dunne said. Buck pulled Clyde to a stop and then stared at his young friend. The man exhibited the same pinched, squinty look that was present every time Buck looked at him these last three hours. _'Stupid kid,'_ the former Texas Ranger thought as he watched J.D. suffer in silence.

"Ah, too, would prefer that we continue forward to today's final destination."

Buck turned to look at the southerner. Ezra Standish could be one frustrating son-of-a-bitch. And yes, some offense was intended toward the former con man's mother, Maude. She did raise the man to be how he is, after all. She was certainly partly responsible for the gambler's propensity for hiding his injuries and illnesses from his friends. Buck was witness to J.D. getting hurt. Similarly, he knew no injury had befallen Four Corners' own professional poker player. Despite Ezra's ability to bluff his way around a poker table or offer an award-winning poker face in a split second, there was no way for him to hide the sickly white pallor, the dullness in his customarily expressive eyes, and the fever evident in the flushed cheeks and persistent sweat on his forehead.

"Well I'll be damned if I'm gonna sit in this saddle any longer. 'Sides, we got thirty minutes at most before the sun sets and it gets too dark to hunt for wood for a fire and fill up the coffee pot with water. The river's runnin' high. Maybe we can all get some o' this trail dust off, too."

Ezra seemed to give in immediately at the possibility of removing some of the sweaty grime he must be feeling and was surely making him feel even more uncomfortable. Buck figured getting him near to the cool river might help bring some of that fever down.

The handsome gunman removed himself from Clyde, his lanky frame moving to the ground faster and with more grace than his sore body, especially his fine but sore butt, should have allowed. He took the reins and led his horse to the river. The grass was just greening up, the mild, late winter temperatures encouraging many indicators of an early spring. It would be cold tonight, but tomorrow would be pleasantly into the fifties by the time they arrived in Rowe, if today was any indication.

J.D. joined his friend at the river as he, too, ground tied his horse and allowed him a good drink.

"Reckon these two'll want to graze for a while on this new grass," Buck said as he looked his _'little brother'_ over.

"Yeah." J.D. removed his hat and ran his hand through his hair. "Look, Buck, thanks for makin' us stop. My head … "

"Yeah, I know," the mustachioed man said as he patted his ailing friend's back gently. "You hit your head pretty hard when ya fell."

"I didn't fall. Milagro bucked me off."

Buck snorted a laugh. "Never thought I'd ever hear you admit that."

"You know what I mean," Four Corners' sheriff said as he rubbed his forehead and continued the massage down to the bridge of his nose, and then back up.

Noting the continued signs of pain, Buck said, "Why don't you take your gear and find us a nice spot. I'll take care of Milagro and bring your saddle over to you."

"You don't have to do that."

"I know," the compassionate lawman said, his smile practically lighting the now-darkening area near the river. "But I want to."

J.D. smiled. "Thanks, Buck."

"You're welcome, kid. I'm gonna leave these two here to graze for a bit while I go check on Ezra."

"What do ya figure's wrong with him?" J.D. asked as he looked over toward the gambler. Chaucer was already enjoying the young grass a little farther away from the riverbank as his rider slouched in the saddle.

"I don't know. Maybe just a bug. Go ahead and find us a good spot. I'll go get him off his horse before he falls off." J.D headed straight for the same area of the clearing Buck would have chosen, not far from the water, plenty of room for a fire in amongst the pine trees. A sheer wall of rock on the far side of the river made the spot easy to protect against should there be such a need.

Buck walked up to Chaucer and gave him a rub on his muzzle as the often cantankerous horse greeted him. The animal seemed to welcome the companionship; he'd had it rough as his man had moments where he'd been so overwhelmed with his own worries that he'd forced the horse to continue on, with little guidance, following along with his equine friends. He still worried for the man who showed him such routine concern and companionship over the years; an occasional unusual whinny was let out from the normally stoic, regal animal. The horse wasn't confused, he was very good at reading a situation, but he was concerned. At least that was Buck's read on the animal. "Nice of you to acknowledge me, boy," he said.

"Chaucer is a gen'leman," Ezra noted tiredly. The southerner did not attempt to raise his head to speak.

"If you say so, Ez," Buck laughed, followed by, "you plannin' on sleepin' up there tonight?"

"Ah would prefer that we continue on … "

"We ain't doin' that, hoss. Now how 'bout you get on down. With three of us workin', we'll get this camp set up right quick."

Ezra raised his head and seemingly at precisely that second heard the river ahead of them.

"That sounds refreshin'," he said as he swiped the dusty, sweaty filth from his face, displacing his hat just enough to get under its brim.

Buck smiled and said, "You wanna get some o' that trail dust off, right?" He patted the neck of the card sharp's fine horse and added, "and Chaucer's lookin' over to his friends. I'm sure he's ready for a drink."

Ezra nodded faintly. He seemed disinclined to do it wholeheartedly, which indicated either a headache or nausea or both. Buck could see the man fighting internally, wondering whether he had it in him to get down off his horse without tumbling to the ground. The pine needles would buffer any fall, at least where they stood now, but the lean gunman was not planning to let that happen.

Ezra checked the reins just enough to get his horse turned toward the water.

"No, no. You can get off here and head on over with J.D. I'll take care o' Chaucer."

"That is a kind offer, Buck, but Ah can take care of mah own horse."

"I know ya can, Ez," Buck said as he patted his friend's thigh affectionately, "but ya don't need to. The sooner you start restin', the sooner you'll get over whatever ya got goin' there."

"There are, indeed, few things more disagreeable than being ill on the trail."

The ladies' man didn't care for that response. It meant that Ezra must really be sick to ever verbalize it in such a way. Admitting to illness was something they rarely heard from the former con man, something that annoyed the hell out of their resident healer and fellow member of The Seven, Nathan Jackson. Buck was forced to admit that he was torn: he appreciated that Ezra conceded to being sick, but he knew that the man would only admit it so that his partners would be ready in case he couldn't perform his duties.

"Come on down, then, and get yourself settled." Ezra nodded and then began to swing his right leg, his left foot still in the stirrup. He grunted and then seemed to bend in on himself, his right hand going for his stomach. He started to fall away from his horse, but Buck was there to keep him righted, or relatively so as the gambler tried to shield himself from the evident pain.

"Good lord," Ezra gasped.

"I got ya," Buck said, encouragement and worry battling for supremacy. "Let's get ya over near that boulder where J.D.'s settin' up for our campfire."

"Chaucer, go to Milagro," Ezra said. Buck smiled as he helped his friend to the camp. The poker player had that horse trained like no other the former Texas Ranger ever saw. They might all kid Ezra Standish on how much he spoiled his horse, but there was little doubt that they were all a little green with envy with the horse's abilities and his devotion to his owner.

As the two men slowly approached camp, Buck said, "Help me set Ez up against that rock, J.D."

"Ezra, what's wrong?"

J.D. was in his own world of hurt through the day and failed to notice what Buck did: Ezra getting sicker with each hour they spent on the road to Rowe. Ezra didn't answer the young man's query as he concentrated first on staying on this feet and then trying to bear the aching pain in his gut.

This hadn't been the first time that the trio met with trouble on the trail. Between this and the Abner Fordham fiasco, where J.D. faked getting hit – and faked amnesia – and Ezra really did suffer serious injury at the hands of that insane family, Chris wouldn't be willing to join them up again for a job anytime soon.

"You almost ready to get that fire lit?" Buck asked.

"I got enough to start it, but we'll need more wood to keep it going." The sheriff looked with concern to the accomplished card player. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, loud enough that only Buck could hear.

"I don't know." Buck reached out to J.D., placing his hand on his upper arm, squeezing it reassuringly. "Let me make sure the horses are good, and I'll bring back our gear and then go gather some wood."

"I can do that," J.D. assured his friend.

"No. Rest up. I think Ezra's gonna need us both to get 'im to Rowe."

"All right."

* * *

"What do you mean Ezra's not here?"

Chris Larabee looked from the accusing eyes of the healer and over to the equally accusatory face presented by their tracker. Vin Tanner didn't say out loud 'I told you so,' but the look in his eyes and the tense set of his jaw left little to the imagination.

"He … " Chris started with his defense, but Nathan Jackson was in no mood to let him finish.

"He's sick."

The leader of the seven men who protected their town looked from Vin back to the former slave. Chris' selection of Ezra to join Buck and J.D. on this journey brought Vin storming into Mary Travis' newspaper office the previous morning.

"Let me go," Vin insisted after he'd greeted Mary with a tip of his hat just as she opened her storefront yesterday, Chris approaching from the opposite direction.

"We all take turns, Vin," Chris explained.

"But he ain't been feelin' good."

The tall blond shook his head. "Ezra didn't say he was sick."

"That's 'cause he won't when he's got a job ta do."

"Just like all of the rest of you," Mary interjected. Both Chris and Vin scowled at the comment.

"We've talked about this before, Vin. I can't make assumptions for any of you. 'Sides, he ain't that sick. You know he'd get out o' this if he could," Chris told his friend. The man didn't look ill when Chris met with Buck, J.D. and Ezra to explain the job to them.

"Chris," Mary interrupted, "the 'old' Ezra would have tried to get out of going. I'm not so sure that's true now."

"Look, I'd be happy to switch things, but you can't go, Vin. You're testifying in Eagle Bend tomorrow." Vin was angry with the man before him. He seethed silently, angry for any number of reasons, not the least being that he agreed to this schedule for Judge Travis' trial so that he could take time afterwards to get out to the reservation for a while. "He don't look sick and he hasn't said that he's sick. And if I ask him if he's sick, he'll deny it. Damned jackass," Chris added, followed quickly by, "Sorry, Mary."

"I've heard worse," said, adding, "and I have to agree with the sentiment, on this." Chris gave her a hug as Vin stormed down the boardwalk.

And now here were three men – Chris, Vin and Nathan – a day after the other three left, arguing anew about their professional poker player.

"I didn't know," Chris said. He caught Vin's steely glare, then added, "for sure. And he never admitted to being sick."

"Well, he was feelin' under the weather, but since I visited with the McClouds, the Horners and the Vigils, I know he's gonna get sicker," Nathan explained.

Vin calmed himself enough to ask the question that needed to be asked. "Do you know what it is?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure it's bad meat. Mr. Horner had some curin', and when Ezra went out to give his lessons to the kids those couple o' days before he left … "

Chris nodded. "That's right. Mrs. Horner and one of the kids was sick, so he told them that he'd come out instead of sending all the kids in town."

Nathan shook his head sadly. "Think that bad meat's what's been keepin' that family sick. I thought they just kept passin' something to each other, and since the kids are always playing between those three houses out that way, I figured that's why the Vigil and McCloud kids were stayin' sick. But they were always over at the Horners playing during one of the mealtimes, and since Mr. Horner had all that meat from hunting, his wife offered to feed the kids. The McClouds and the Vigils sometimes run short."

"Yeah," Chris said. They knew that. They always brought food out to the families, when they could. But they couldn't drop the food off when the fathers were around; all three men were too proud and made a huge fuss, in front of their children, when the lawmen did. The mothers, knowing better and understanding that their children required nutrition, were always happy to accept the food, out of sight of the children, who could not be counted on not to tell their fathers, however innocently the knowledge was imparted.

"What're the symptoms?" the former bounty hunter asked.

"Well, Vin, part of the problem is that Ezra did eat with the children each of those three days. And the symptoms can have a delayed start," the healer said, turning to Chris," so he probably wasn't feeling bad enough not to take his turn."

"But I told you … " Vin challenged, but Nathan interrupted.

"Chris told me you knew Ezra was sick, but I'm tellin' ya, Vin, he's probably just startin' to feel the worst of the symptoms."

"Which are?" Chris encouraged.

"Stomach troubles, nausea and vomiting or diarrhea, or both. Fever, aches. Once these start, he won't want to eat or drink, but both of those things would make him feel better. He'll need water to replenish what he loses. If he doesn't drink …. " Nathan stopped, not happy with the consequences should his friend not stay hydrated.

"What?" Chris and Vin asked together.

"He could get real dizzy, very tired, and those symptoms could get worse, maybe disorientation," Nathan replied.

"What about his headaches?" Vin asked.

"Well, stress can bring 'em on, but that's really the least of the trouble he'll have. The other symptoms could be life-threatening if he don't keep drinking. The headaches aren't."

Vin said what they all knew to be true. "If he gets hit bad with it, he'll just want ta find a bed and ride it out."

Chris stood and said, "I'll send a telegram to the sheriff in Rowe. They should be getting there by suppertime."

"Unless … " Nathan started, but Chris cut him off.

"Yeah, I know. Unless they were forced to stop." The former gunslinger walked out of the jail and headed for the telegraph office.

* * *

The warmth of the late winter day gave way to near-freezing temperatures as Buck sat at the fire cooking up some beans and warming up the biscuits that Gloria Potter handed to Ezra just as the three lawmen left Four Corners yesterday morning.

"You think he'll be all right to ride in the morning?" J.D. asked. Resting up for the last hour or so seemed to be just the prescription for the young man's headache.

"I don't know. Figure he'll want to try. He ain't gonna want to spend another night out here if he can help it," Buck replied.

"I just hope he's feelin' better soon. I hate gettin' sick away from home." Buck smiled at the man before him who was as dear to him as any blood brother ever could be. Yeah, Buck thought, it was no doubt better to have Casey and Nettie Wells fussing over his young friend rather than suffering out on the trail. Buck preferred to have one of his ladies ease his pain. Ezra? Ezra always seemed to want to be alone when sick or hurt, yet he also relished the company of his friends when he was stuck up in Nathan's clinic. Maybe now that Ezra had Inez he was better about holing up by himself.

Just as Buck expected, Ezra refused supper, but he'd rushed over to their privy several times since Buck and J.D. helped him to settle up against the boulder. The gambler hobbled back after his last visit, the exhausted sleep he'd finally fallen into continually interrupted by pained moans, and embarrassing trips out of sight.

* * *

"Hell," Chris said as he joined Josiah, Vin and Nathan for a late supper.

"What?" Nathan asked. Chris informed them that he would be receiving a reply late from Sheriff Latimer in Rowe. They agreed to meet for a meal together at seven-thirty. Chris showing up nearly forty-five minutes late couldn't be a good thing.

"They didn't show, at least not yet. I sent a reply asking Latimer to check the livery and the hotels. Told him I'd wait for his answer. He said no one has seen them."

Vin shrugged. "That route ta Rowe is rough. If Ez is sick, they would o' been slowed down."

The preacher Josiah Sanchez asked, "So you think they just haven't gotten there? You're not thinking trouble."

"I don't know," Nathan interrupted. "Seems to me Ezra sick and sleeping on a bedroll counts as trouble for Buck and J.D." No one laughed.

"Sheriff's gonna notify us when they arrive," Chris said.

"Buck'll send a telegram when they get there," Josiah said.

"He will, but not before he sees to Ezra. Sheriff'll spot 'em. We'll hear either way."

* * *

The three lawmen from Four Corners made their way into Rowe.

"Need to see if this town has a doctor," Buck said.

J.D. looked around. The town was half the size of Four Corners, at best. They would be lucky to even find a healer. They would not find a healer or a doctor who held a candle to Nathan Jackson.

"I doubt we'll find … "

"Let us introduce ourselves to the sheriff before we do anything further," Ezra suggested. The card sharp had spent the last hour draped over his horse's strong neck. The position helped to ease, if only just a little, the ache in his stomach.

"We need to get you looked at and we need to get you layin' down, Ez," Buck said worriedly.

"It will take but a few moments to inform him of our arrival."

J.D. added, "Chris probably sent a telegram to the sheriff. Let's see if he did, and we can check on our prisoner."

"Let's worry 'bout the prisoner later. We might not be leavin' here for a while," the lean gunman said as he looked at the pale gambler.

"Ah am fine."

"You aren't," J.D. countered.

Ezra lowered his head to the ground, hiding his face from his fellow lawmen. He looked up, swiped the beads of sweat from his brow, then said, "It mattahs not. Ah refuse to spend more than one night in this …. " Ezra paused, trying to find the right word. He simply wasn't up to the task and ended with a frustrated, "town."

"I think we should stay 'til you're better," the young man donning the new bowler hat said.

"No." The familiar red jacket seemed too big for him as Ezra appeared to sag deeper into his saddle, if that was even possible.

"All right. Let's get over to the jail," Buck said. "We can decide what we're doin' in the mornin' in the mornin'." The handsome ladies' man frowned at how that sounded.

"Eloquent as evah."

"Shut up, Ezra."

* * *

Chris stormed into the saloon and tossed the telegram on the table. He started to tell his fellow peacekeepers what it said, but caught a glimpse of Inez off to the side, behind the bar.

"Let's talk quietly. Inez don't need to know 'bout this just yet."

Josiah read the telegram to himself. "Hell," he said, followed by, "They don't have a doc or a healer." He kept his tone low, knowing how his voice could carry.

"They have a healer, but he's passed out drunk in one of the jail cells. Sheriff said we probably don't want him treatin' anyone we care about, anyway."

"Buck and J.D.'ll take care of 'im," Vin said. "You can send instructions by telegraph," he said to Nathan, "tell 'em what needs doin'."

Chris snorted a derisive laugh, then looked at Vin with a serious expression.

"You think we should head out to meet 'em," the tracker said, more a statement than a question as he read his good friend's mind on the subject. The formerly wanted man had asked Judge Travis to schedule the trial for first thing in the morning. Vin slept a few hours so that he could ride through last night to get his testimony over with and be back to Four Corners as quickly as possible, just in case.

"What?" Nathan asked. "Why?" He looked from Chris to Vin and then to Josiah. It was clear in the older man's visage what he thought. "You think you're just going to head out in the morning?" The healer looked to Chris. "Has he been sick? I mean throwing up sick."

"Not that," Chris answered, suggesting the other symptom Nathan told them about. "Make a list, Nate. Make it concise and get it over to Buck." Chris looked to the preacher. "Need ya to stay here, Josiah." It was obvious that the big man was not in agreement with the decision, but he understood that he was the logical one to remain behind.

"You takin' a wagon?"

"We'll make better time if we rent one in the nearest town ta where we meet up with 'em," Vin reasoned. "Or we jest make 'im stay put 'til he's better."

"That would be my preference," the healer agreed.

"How long does this sickness from spoiled food last?" Chris asked as he watched Nathan put together his list in the notebook he always kept with him. His fellow lawman from the south always kept a book and a writing implement on him, needing on occasion to make note of something other than gambling bets, which he kept in a different notebook. Some might think that Nathan picked up the habit from Ezra, but that was not the case. Nathan learned the benefits of having something handy to write on from Vin Tanner. The Texan learned in these three years in Four Corners to read and write, first from lessons Mary prepared for him when she became the first in town to gain the knowledge that he could not read or write. Once he'd mastered the basics, he switched instructors, finding Ezra's patience and guidance and enthusiasm more to his liking. That they could get away from town and its distractions proved helpful as well. So when Nathan saw Vin jotting something in a tiny book, he adopted the same practice to note reminders, write down thoughts on treatments he might come across or think of on his own.

"Depends. If he's been eating and keepin' it down … " Chris interrupted.

"Just a range, Nathan. You have a telegram to get ready."

"Could be almost over by now. Could have a couple more days, even up to a week."

Chris nodded. "After you get that over to the telegraph office, get your things together. Meet Vin and me at the livery in fifteen minutes."

* * *

"Ezra, you're supposed to eat."

Buck Wilmington was beyond frustrated. Everything that Nathan suggested to help ease the nausea and vomiting, the diarrhea, the stomach cramps, Ezra refused. The former con man was adamant in his refusal to put anything in his body that would be coming out one end or the other minutes after taking it. The tiny sips of water that he would take, or the substantial ones that he would use to rinse his mouth … and spit out, would do nothing to replenish the important fluids that he lost this last day.

"Ah will not," Ezra said, cutting off any debate on the subject. "We should depart." The gambler stood from their table at the tiny hotel restaurant and stared at his friend.

"Fine," Buck said, "but we paid for this food," he added as he gathered all of the biscuits at their table," and I don't aim to let it go to slop." The lean gunman shoveled several slices of bacon into his mouth. Ezra averted his eyes, his queasy stomach not up to watching the spectacle.

"Let us not dawdle," the southerner suggested.

"Can' leave wi'out J.D.," Buck reminded his companion. "Where is tha' boy?" he asked, still chewing, and still filling his mouth.

"Ah feel certain we shall see him presently." Ezra headed for the exit.

"Wh're's y'r sa'lebags?" the ladies' man asked as he tried to talk through his mouthful of the remaining bacon and the shovelful of potatoes that he added when Ezra headed away.

"They're on Chaucer," J.D. said. "We ready to go?"

"You're not helpin', J.D. Ezra shouldn't be gettin' on a horse … "

J.D. waved at his friend dismissively. "You plannin' on tyin' him to a bed?" They both heard the professional poker player chuckle. "If not, I think we're headin' home."

Buck brushed past his protégé and crossed the threshold. He sensed J.D. right behind him. "You two just remember that I protested this decision, vehemently."

"Well, well, our Mistah Wilmin … "

"Shut up, Ezra. Just make sure, once you come to after you pass out on the trail, that I told you so. And you," he continued, glaring at the young easterner who felt like a brother to him, "make sure Nathan knows what's what. I don't want him blamin' me for this."

"Let's ride," J.D. said.

Ezra took a deep breath as he prepared to mount his cherished horse.

"You need help?" Buck asked with concern. He knew that if Ezra's horse could, he would be down to the ground the way he'd seen camels do in a book he'd read, anything to help his man.

"Ah … Ah just need a moment." The card sharp took one more fortifying breath and hauled himself up. It wasn't pretty, and the effort to get on his horse obviously didn't do him any favors. Ezra was in the saddle, and that was all that mattered.

"I'll pick up Gordon," J.D. informed his companions. "Sheriff said he'd have him saddled and secure … "

"There he is," Buck said as he nodded in the direction of the jail. Ezra and J.D. turned to see the sheriff walking their way, leading a horse with their prisoner. J.D. shook the man's hand.

"Thank you, Sheriff Latimer. Much obliged."

"Happy to be rid of 'im."

"Why's that?" Buck asked.

"He's got family."

"Aw, hell," Ezra groaned.

"Father? Uncle?" J.D. asked.

"Brothers. Two of 'em. Here's their wanted posters," the sheriff said, handing over what looked like newly printed posters.

"Not wanted for long?" Buck surmised from the pristine condition of the announcement.

"Yep. Just a few weeks ago. We're one of the first town's on the circuit to get notified of this kind of thing." The sheriff looked to the prisoner, and then back to the three lawmen from Four Corners. "Good luck."

"Brothahs," Ezra sighed, his throat a little rough, his body unable to help but project his sick and exhausted state. "This changes everything. And it certainly does not portend good luck for our journey, just the opposite, in fact."

Buck looked up to the clear sky. He knew he couldn't suggest they delay because of the weather. It didn't matter anyway; Ezra would not agree to stay, no matter what the reason. He was going to have to sit with Chris at some point and have a talk about Ezra. This behavior was really no better than some of the reckless behavior that J.D. had put them through, or Josiah's drinking during that first year that they had worked together. Or even Ezra taking crazy chances to save their collective asses.

"Let's get movin'. Maybe we can get to the halfway point, get to stay in a hotel tonight. Whaddya say, Ez?"

"An excellent plan for our day, Mistah Wilmington."

"All right. Sheriff, can ya send a telegram to Chris Larabee about the brothers, just in case they ain't heard about them yet?"

"Sure will."

The group left Rowe heading due west. They settled into formation, J.D. in the lead, the prisoner Andy Gordon following, his hands tied in front of him, another rope tethering him to the pommel. Buck and Ezra shadowed Gordon on either side, slightly behind.

The foursome traveled in relative silence for about an hour. The bright sun easily countered the early morning chill, making for pleasant travel weather. Gordon made taunting comments about his brothers knowing full-well where to find him. Buck and J.D. took turns telling the man to stay quiet, threats to stuff a used sock in his mouth enough to keep it shut, for the most part.

The only other talk was Buck asking Ezra how he was doing. The fourth time he asked, the lean gunman could hear the irritation in the answer from the normally easy going southerner. Buck stopped asking but wished he hadn't as he watched Ezra pull his horse to the side of the road, jump off, and spew very little onto the ground as he heaved. At that moment, a half an hour after he'd last asked after the card sharp, Buck wished he'd kept up with the queries.

"Hold up, J.D.," Buck called. "Keep a close eye on that one," he added as he dismounted, grabbed his canteen and headed to his sick friend.

"Don't try anything," J.D. said, holding one of his guns on their prisoner.

"My brothers'll shoot you first for aiming that gun at me like that. I'll tell 'em to."

"Shut up," the youngest of the peacekeepers of Four Corners said.

"Ezra?" Buck asked as he knelt beside the gambler. The retching was now just painful and unpleasant spasms. The pale and sweaty card sharp was on his knees, his hands holding him up as they pressed flat on the ground, his arms trembling. He lifted one hand from the ground, reaching inside his jacket for his handkerchief. His sense of balance was off, and he headed precipitously to the ground. The strong arms of Buck Wilmington prevented the tumble, one hand grabbing Ezra's arm, the other, with fingers splayed wide, catching his friend at his chest, gently.

"Ah need mah … "

"I'll get it. You just lean on me a minute." Ezra sagged to the ground as Buck pulled the fancy, embroidered cloth from the southerner's inside pocket. He uncorked his canteen and dampened it before handing it over to his friend.

"Thank you," Ezra eked out as he wiped his mouth and then used the other side of the cool cloth on his forehead. "Good lord," he croaked, his throat sore from the switch from diarrhea to mostly vomiting now. "How long am Ah to suffer these indignities?"

Buck patted the sick man on his shoulder, both of them now sitting on the ground. "You been at it two days. Hopin' for your sake it's almost done. Here, take a swig."

"Ah do not … "

"Come on, ya need to replenish what ya been losin'. You know what Nathan says 'bout upchuckin' and, you know, the other."

"Ah know," Ezra replied, not feeling well enough to complain to his friend about this topic of conversation, like he normally would. "Ah just … Ah cannot fathom, the way Ah am feelin', that it will stay down." He took a small sip anyway, his thirst compelling him to do something that he dreaded.

Buck looked over to J.D. and their prisoner. It was now just two hours into their ride. They should have stayed in Rowe until Ezra was over this. Buck didn't know if this sickness had an official name, but he knew he would be careful what he ate from now on.

Quietly, he asked, "You wanna stop for a while? Or head back?"

"Ah believe Ah can continue." Ezra turned his head toward Buck, unknowingly nearly knocking heads with his concerned cohort. "Ah would like to continue."

Buck leaned his head against Ezra's. "You got it, hoss." The kind-hearted gunman knew full well that they would be stopping many more times before this day was done. They would not make good time, and they would certainly be spending the night camped out; there were no odds worth squat that they would make it to a town with a hotel. Buck knew he could count on J.D. to watch Gordon while he kept his eye on Ezra.

* * *

Chris, Vin and Nathan had ridden their horses hard, knowing that they needed to make time as their friends would not be able to.

"Chris, hold up," Vin called. Chris and Pony stopped, as did Nathan on his reliable but new horse, Honey Pie, Honey for short. A month or so ago, Ezra initiated a contest with the children of Four Corners to come up with a name for Nathan's new steed. The healer determined a while back that his regular ride, Jordan, would need to be retired. The hard riding they frequently did was not something an older horse like Jordan should be asked to do. Once she heard about the healer's plans, Nettie Wells offered the horse an easy retirement on her ranch, a place where Nathan could visit and take the old man out for an easy ride whenever he could. Nathan accepted the offer, gratefully, and in return offered to pay for his feed as he accumulated the funds. Nettie told him not to worry, that Ezra, and on occasion Chris, were planning to pay for the extra monetary burden that she was incurring on the horse. When Nathan approached about paying his bill on Jordan's feed, the card sharp had a ready and seemingly valid reason to do it himself. Ezra considered himself infinitely indebted to the black man for the numerous times Nathan worked to save an arm from a bullet wound, quickly stitched a gushing artery from a knife attack, helped to ease his pain innumerable ways. The healer was completely responsible for Ezra not being crippled from his bum shoulder. His hand that was so badly injured now seemed a distant memory. The gentle care he received when one of his sick headaches came upon him always seemed above and beyond the call, considering how much of that was simply keeping him company and holding his head over a bucket. Indeed, Nathan, more than once, saved the southerner's life. Keeping Nathan's dear old friend comfortable in his old age was the least he could do, Ezra told his friend. Nathan found it impossible to say no to the extended, heartfelt offer.

"What?"

"We been ridin' these horses hard. Need to head north a bit to Chama. We need fresh horses."

"We'll lose time," Nathan suggested.

"These other smaller towns won't have a supply," Chris said.

"I know the man there who runs the livery. He'll take good care of Peso, Pony and Honey and let us choose the horses we want."

"All right," Chris agreed. "Let's get it done."

* * *

"What the hell's wrong with him? Is he dyin'?" Andy Gordon asked.

"None of your business," J.D. said, his gun held steady once more on the wanted man as they listened to the sounds of retching.

"Sounds like he might be dyin'."

"Shut up."

"Reckon you can try and make me, but I know you won't, not with them other two … what's the word? Indisposed? Yeah, that's it. And it seems to take them a long time to get goin' again. What else do ya suppose those two are doin' when they're out of sight?"

"Shut up," J.D. ground out through gritted teeth.

"Maybe that gaggin' ain't from what they want us to think. Maybe the fancy man ain't cut out for _that kind_ of deviant behavior."

"Shut up," J.D. said, wanting more than anything to just shoot the man and not need to worry about him any longer. He'd rather they weren't forced to try to get Gordon back to Four Corners in time for the trial. If they didn't have that commitment to meet, they could give Ezra some time to rest.

"The big one must let loose quite a load. Seems odd, though, that they're takin' so long. I'd've thought he'd want to get the pretty one to a town so's he can take that peacock."

J.D. moved Milagro closer to Gordon and his horse. "You sure do seem to know a lot about it. I say what people do in their own lives ain't no business of mine, or yours. But you seem to have some experience," the young man taunted. "Seem to know a lot about that _'deviant behavior'_."

"No, but they do."

J.D. rolled his eyes, waved his hand dismissively at the man he kept at gun point and said, "Shut up."

"J.D., what'd I tell you about gettin' close to him?"

"He was sayin' things … "

Buck glared at Andy Gordon. "Yeah, I can imagine. But when you're the only one watchin', ya can't let any shit comin' from his mouth get to you."

"You're right. Where's Ezra?"

"Buttonin' up," Gordon said.

"Shut up!" Buck and J.D. yelled. To J.D., Buck said, "He got some on his shirt."

"He did? That's quite a trick,' the prisoner said.

Buck strode purposefully over to Clyde, reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a dirty sock and kerchief.

"I'm tired of hearing J.D. yell 'Shut up' and I'm tired of hearing you at all." Buck sniffed the sock, said, "that'll do," and then walked up to Gordon's horse. "Give that a good whiff." The prisoner refused. Buck drew his gun, cocked it, and pointed it at Gordon's shoulder. "Bullet there won't kill ya. It'll hurt like hell, and make me feel better. You won't feel much like talkin'. Now give it a good sniff." Gordon did, then coughed at the smell. "If you don't keep it shut, I will stuff this down your damn throat. Now, do we understand each other?" Gordon opened his mouth to answer, but Buck cut him off. "No, no. No talking. A nod of the head will do." Gordon nodded his head. "Good. Let me just stuff this sock in your belt here, just as a reminder, keep it handy in case I need it."

Ezra stepped up to Buck's right side. "Do we have a problem?" he asked, his silky accent ruined, a raw sound all that was left from the repeated abuse his throat had been subjected to today. Yesterday, it was an entirely other part of his anatomy that made his life miserable.

"No," Buck said as he turned to his friend. "We've come to an … accommodation."

"Ah must say, Buck, your vocabulary has improved quite noticeably."

"Well, Ez, that's 'cause I've been seein' a new, lovely lady. She's a college graduate."

Ezra smiled sadly. He was aware of Miss Siobhan O'Shaughnessy's presence in town. She was the beautiful redhead from Ireland by way of Boston who the committee, put together for precisely this purpose well over two years ago, hired as the school teacher. Ezra could not deny her qualifications for the job, or her considerable beauty and charm. His feelings on the successful hire were painfully mixed, but he knew it was right to hope that she was the one, that she would last longer than her predecessors in this most crucial of jobs. He also hoped that _this_ redhead was finally the right redhead for Buck.

"Yes, Buck, Ah am fully aware of Miss O'Shaughnessy's presence in town." Ezra paused slyly and asked, "It is _Miss_ O'Shaughnessy?"

"Hell, Ez. Of course … it … is." Now it was Buck's turn to pause, and frown, before he added, "You were on the committee. You must know if she has a husband or kids." The notorious ladies' man paused for just a beat before adding, "Please tell me she ain't got a husband or kids."

"Ah am not aware of any family, but you are the one who has been close enough with her to ask." Ezra looked him in the eye and rubbed his sore throat when he queried, "Have you not asked?"

"It ain't one of the first things I ask." Ezra just stared at his friend. Buck brushed off the concern. "It's good, I ain't worried." He looked with more concern at Ezra. "You feelin' any better? You look a little better."

"Just as with each previous unpleasantness, Ah feel well enough to ride, right up until Ah am not." He smiled apologetically and shrugged his shoulder.

"Sorry. Well, let's get goin', see what kind of progress we can make. Let me help you up on Chaucer," he offered.

"Ah can manage. Ah believe Ah have gotten used to the pain. Ah cannot evah imagine gettin' used to the othah."

"I wouldn't either. Let's get movin'. Maybe we can get a little farther so that they won't have to …." Buck stopped talking, but that didn't stop Ezra and J.D. from staring at him.

"Who's they?" J.D. asked.

"N … Nobody. I meant we."

"No you did not," Ezra stated emphatically. "Son, keep an eye on our man." J.D. did as he was told, but he kept an ear on the conversation. "What, pray tell, will _they_ not have to do?" Ezra grunted as he struggled into his saddle.

Buck removed his hat, raised his eyes to the sky, and shook his head, letting out a snort of a laugh. He hadn't wanted to tell either of his companions about their friends meeting them, precisely because of the reaction he would get from each of them once the untold truth sank in.

"Buck, please do not tell me that our associates are riding all the way to meet us … " J.D. interrupted the gambler.

"Is Nathan coming?" the young man asked, looking pleadingly at Buck. He turned to Ezra. "You're real sick, ain't ya? Nathan, he must think you're in a bad way to come all this way."

Ezra started to answer. "Ah … " but Buck stepped in to hopefully ease both their worries, to especially keep Ezra from having to worry about it. He had plenty of things to worry about right now as it was.

"J.D., I don't know for sure they're comin'. But knowin' Chris the way I do, there weren't gonna be no stoppin' them three once they heard how bad off Ezra's been."

"Aw, hell," the sick man groused.

"If it makes ya feel any better, Josiah's the one who'll be stayin' home."

"Thank heavens for small favors," Ezra grumbled.

"We ain't changin' it now, and we might have this one's kin ta worry about. Let's get back on the trail," Buck said, wanting nothing more than to kick himself in the ass for the slip.

* * *

"We have to stop, Chris. We've ridden nearly seventeen hours with just a twenty minute break to switch horses and two other stops that only amounted to 'bout fifteen minutes. It's dark, we're all exhausted, including the horses."

"We got moonlight," the former gunslinger said. "It's pretty flat for a while yet."

"Nate's right," Vin cut in. "It's near nine o'clock. We can get close ta seven hours sleep 'fore we get light breakin'. Can't afford one o' the horses goin' lame. We'll make better time if we're all fresh."

Chris conceded quickly that his two companions were right. "We made more ground than we thought we would," he agreed. "Nathan, you take first watch."

* * *

J.D. looked down at the sleeping man. "Ezra, you gotta get up," he urged with no success. "Buck, he won't get up."

Buck looked down at the gambler and shook his head sadly. "He's practically passed out. Let's let him sleep while we finish breakfast and break camp. How's that one been?" he asked, cocking his head to their prisoner.

"Bitchin' 'bout bein' tied to a tree. Don't know what he expected."

"I expected that you'd be smarter than this. My brothers're gonna take care o' you so bad."

"Been like that," the young easterner said.

"Yeah," Buck uttered softly. "Come on, finish up. Let's get all this packed away. The sooner we get movin', the sooner we'll meet up with Chris and the boys."

After feeding themselves quickly on cold beans and day-old biscuits, and coffee, a biscuit and water for Gordon, and saddling the horses and packing their things, Buck and J.D. got Gordon tied once more to his horse. J.D. tried again to get Ezra up, but a moaned 'no' from the ill lawman had J.D. switch with Buck. He watched the prisoner as Buck headed to Ezra.

"Hey, we gotta go!" the handsome gunman called. He kicked Ezra's thigh lightly once he reached the mound that resembled simply a pile of blankets. Buck and J.D. had placed their blankets on their friend when they noticed him shivering earlier, once both men were up. Buck tapped the thigh once more, which had maybe not the desired effect, but it did get him a response.

"Mistah Wilmin'ton … "

"No, none o' that. We agreed to get an early start. Now get up and take care of yer mornin' rituals and I'll get Chaucer all ready for ya." Ezra mumbled something under his breath. "What was that, Ez?"

"Nothin'."

"All right, then. Mug o' coffee's stayin' warm at the fire, biscuit's next to it. We're leavin' in five minutes."

"How am Ah expected to perform mah morning ablutions in five minutes?" the card sharp asked, not moving from the comfort of his makeshift cocoon.

"Reckon ya ain't. Now go take a piss, comb your hair, have your breakfast and let's get a move on."

"You are gettin' as bad as Mistah Larabee, though he is decidedly less crude."

"Whatever you say, though I will take that first part as a compliment."

"None of what Ah said was intended as approval in any way," the sickly looking peacekeeper said.

"Four and a half minutes."

"You are a heathen," Ezra said as he sat up, moaned as he leaned over in pain, rolled to his hands and knees and forced himself up. "Lord," he uttered as he walked toward the bushes and the still spring farther beyond.

Buck watched him leave. His friend showed none of the graceful, fluid movement for which Ezra Standish was known. Buck sighed, picked up Ezra's saddle and headed toward the gambler's horse.

"You sure you ain't got a thing for that dandy?" Andy Gordon asked. "Looks to me like you're pinin' for him."

"Shut up," Buck and J.D. both yelled.

By the time Buck had Ezra's ride ready for him, the gambler approached. He picked up the mug, took a sip, then took a small bite from the biscuit. He took another taste of the coffee as he walked toward Buck. He handed the biscuit, mostly untouched, to the mustachioed man, took one more drink from the mug, tossed the rest and handed the mug to Buck as well.

"Let us proceed." Buck noticed that despite how poorly he felt, evidenced by his continued reluctance to ingest anything more than a little coffee and some water – he wasn't even pulling out his flask on this trip – the man still managed to shave.

* * *

"This is more'n halfway there," the tracker said.

"We'll likely meet up with 'em in the next few hours," Chris observed. He removed his hat and swiped his hand through his hair.

"Could be as soon as an hour if they haven't had to stop for Ezra much," Nathan said. "Might be a lot longer … "

"Yeah. Just hope they're stickin' to the trail."

"Ain't a problem if they don't. Ain't had no rain, we'll see their tracks. They might have ta head off o' the trail if they see signs o' them Gordons," Vin reminded them. "Let's get goin'."

An hour later and closer to the mountains, dark clouds started rolling in. A band of weather appeared in the distance, in the direction they were heading.

"Looks like rain," Chris said.

Vin, a man more familiar with the skies than anyone any of the other Seven had ever met, shook his head. "No, that ain't rain, not yet. But it could be, and it could be rough if anyone gets caught in it. Won't know 'til we get closer."

And just as Vin, Chris and Nathan brought their horses to a gallop, the skies darkened even more.

"So much for no rain," Chris said. Even if they might not get rain up ahead, they were definitely going to get some where they were.

"Just what we didn't need," Nathan added. "Ezra really don't need to be caught in a cold rain."

"At least the rest of our ride until we meet up with them is fairly flat. Whatever rain we get until we get farther east will likely jest be passin' showers."

"Let's hope so," Chris said as he slowed the gait on his horse slightly as the first splats of rain began to fall.

* * *

"Ya'll right?" J.D. asked.

Ezra looked up to the worried face of the youngest member of their law enforcement group. It was a stupid question, but even with how sick Ezra felt at the moment, he couldn't be anything but courteous to the man who had become a good friend.

"Ah am fine," he said, saluting the sheriff with a tip of his hat. J.D. saw Buck's face behind the gambler, saw him shake his head. Ezra wasn't fine, he was obviously still getting sick.

"I'm sorry, Ezra. I know you're not feelin' good."

"There is no reason for you to be sorry, son. It is what it is, and it will surely run its course." Ezra snorted lightly and added, "Ah am grateful that it is nothing more than it is. Now."

"You two talkin' code?" Andy Gordon asked.

"Shut up!" Buck and J.D. yelled.

"Ah see that you are makin' a concerted effort to ingratiate yourself in an effort to curry favor for our return to Four Corners," Ezra said as he mounted his horse.

"I don't know what ya just said there, but I can tell you it don't matter, 'cause we ain't makin' it back to that stupid town."

"Is that so? Well, we are much obliged for the information. We will take appropriate precautions."

"You won't have time," the prisoner said.

"Shut up. No one really wants to hear what you have to say," J.D. offered. "Let's go."

The four men continued west. Three of them knew that they were meeting up with three more of their number soon. The fourth was convinced of a meeting of another kind. Only time would tell which meeting would take place first.

They continued on, making good progress. It had been over an hour since they had to stop for Ezra, and the time had flown with J.D. telling an occasional joke. He wasn't getting any laughs, but the other three men were preoccupied with other thoughts than finding humor in nominally humorous jokes.

"I've got another one."

"That's enough with the jokes, J.D. Keep your eyes open," Buck said.

"You're feelin' it, huh. They should be here any time now," Gordon said.

"Will you just shut up?" Buck asked, exasperated. He didn't want to admit it out loud, but he did sense … something. He didn't know if it was Gordon's brothers, or maybe they were being watched by a bear or a big cat. Whatever it was, they all needed to stay alert. The former Texas Ranger telling J.D. to be quiet immediately put both of his partners on alert. It did the same with Andy Gordon, for sure, but the man was tied up and would have little chance to do anything to help his brothers other than verbally calling out to them. "J.D., do you have that …?" Before Buck could finish asking if he had the sock handy in order to keep Gordon quiet, the echo of rifle fire was heard, and dust kicked up beside J.D. and Milagro.

"J.D., get down!" Ezra called as he encouraged Chaucer closer to the prisoner's horse. He jumped from his horse, his knife in his left hand. He sliced the ropes, and he and Gordon tumbled to the ground. Buck jumped down from his horse and he shooed all of the animals to the side of the trail.

"Big boulder, over to the right!" he yelled as he ran to grab Ezra and Gordon and move them off the road, where the two men were engaged in a scuffle. Andy Gordon knew exactly where to aim his still-tied wrists … and clasped fists. He punched Ezra hard and fast in the stomach. The southerner curled into a ball, the pain caused by the first two assaults to his abdomen, as well as the two that Buck had caught sight of, was enough to not only cause searing pain but it also robbed him of desperately needed air. Buck reached the men, grabbed Gordon by both arms and heaved the man toward the smaller but still substantial rocks just off the road. He heard a loud clunk, and watched as Gordon's body settled into the ground. "Ezra?"

"Let us move, Buck."

They all heard more firepower, but there was little question that the number of shots heading their way was significantly fewer than when the firing first started. It even sounded like there was firepower coming from behind them, but that could have been the echo due to all of the rock, and there were no shots coming _at_ them from that direction.

"Buck!"

"We're all right. You okay?"

"Yeah. I think they're afraid to shoot, they can't see us, and their brother is down."

"That is not what has happened."

Buck, J.D., and Ezra with his pea shooter all aimed their guns at the voice up on top of the large boulder behind them.

"You."

"Sí," the man said as he made his way down to the ground.

"Señ … Señor Martinez," Ezra stuttered over his pained moans.

"You remember my name, señor. That is very impressive," Raphael Cordova de Martinez said as he kneeled beside the downed Andy Gordon.

"Ah was t … taught to alw … " he groaned painfully, then finished, "always remembah im … impressive people."

"Gracias, señor." Raphael checked the wanted man's pulse. "This one is dead."

"What about the ones shooting, the brothers?" Buck asked as he pulled Ezra from his curled position and laid him flat. He figured that Martinez would not be standing as he was now if there was still any threat of more bullets flying their way.

"I shot one. Dead. The other was shot by your compadres."

They heard horses pounding on the well-used, hard packed dirt trail.

"Hey, it's Chris, Vin and Nathan," J.D. called as he waved to his newly arriving fellow lawmen. The horses were pulled to a quick stop by their riders.

"Don't do that, J.D.," Chris chastised. "We don't know if there's any more around."

"There are no more," Raphael said.

Chris turned to the Mexican fast draw. "Well, what a surprise."

"I, too, am surprised to meet you here, though I only count six of your Magníficos." He saw the shot but not dead Gordon brother tied well down the road. That Gordon's brother's horse was with the newly arrived lawmen.

Chris reached his hand out. Raphael shook it. "Josiah's back watching the town."

"Ah. It must be a safe town now to only require one of your number to keep watch over it."

"It's a different place since you were there last," Chris told him.

"Thank god you're here, fellas," Buck said. "Hey, Ez, did ya hear that? Nate's here."

"Glory be," Ezra mumbled.

"I heard that," Nathan said as he set his bag on the ground and started looking over his friend and regular patient.

"Ah … did not intend … oh …." Ezra pushed Buck out of the way as he rolled to his side and threw up. Buck wasn't able to remove himself quite fast enough.

"Damn it, Ezra," he said.

"Mah apol … apolo … " he gambler started, but he retched again, this time hitting only the dusty, weed-filled ground. "Lord."

"Stop talking," the healer ordered. "Let me look at you." To Buck, Nathan said, "Can you find a place to camp? I'm gonna need a fire and some water heated.

"There is a small tributary of the Rio Pecos, about half of a mile from here. Can he make it there?" the Mexican asked.

"Ah am right heah. Ah can … ooh." Ezra stopped talking and tried to curl in again in an attempt to ease the pain.

"I don't know, Ezra," Nathan said. "You … "

"Nathan, Ah have been … in pain for thr … three days. Ah can make it another … twenty-five hundred feet."

"You just took a bunch o' blows to your stomach from that piece of shit, Ez. It ain't just the sickness now."

"Ah feel certain … oooh, that hurts," Ezra started as he wrapped his arms around his stomach, "Ah can count on one … or more of you to … help me get there." Ezra was done talking, as he passed out.

"Shit," Buck said. "Nate?"

"How the hell do I know, Buck? I ain't hardly had a chance to look at 'im."

Chris looked at Raphael. "Help me build a travois?"

"It would be my pleasure," the handsome Mexican gunslinger said to the handsome American one.

* * *

"So," Chris said as he took a long drink from his coffee mug, Ezra's stash from Ezra's fancy saddlebags, enhanced with Ezra's fine liquor from Ezra's flask.

Raphael took a similarly-sized swallow, the contents of his mug enhanced the same as Chris'. "This is muy bien. He will not mind that you used his supplies?"

"Ezra's gotten a lot better at sharing," Buck said as he joined the two men at the camp fire.

"How is he?" Chris asked, his concern impossible to hide. Indeed, as Raphael watched the two men, it appeared that none of these men even attempted to hide how worried they were for the gambling man.

"He's sleepin'. Nate's cleaning up, he'll be here in a few minutes. He can explain it better'n I can." Buck poured himself some coffee. He looked around, then said, "You can't be hoggin' it all for yourself. I know it was full, he didn't have any appetite for anything these last few days." Chris looked over to Vin, who sat beside the gambler. The former bounty hunter heard that last comment. He shook his head, and then kept his eyes on their sick friend. Chris figured that Vin would be mad at him at least until the poker player was completely well. Probably longer.

Chris handed the flask to his long-time friend. "So, Raphael, how is it that you were here."

"Quite the coincidence, sí?"

Chris and Raphael stared one another down. Chris shook his head and said, "I'm gonna say no."

Raphael laughed, a loud, easy laugh. "Well, that would have been quite a loco coincidence. I saw you, in Chama."

"When we rented fresh horses."

"Yes. I am the law there."

"You are?" Chris said, a crooked grin coming to his handsome face.

"Really?" Buck said. "Ain't that somethin'?"

"You the sheriff?" Chris asked.

"Not exactly. I have someone who is sheriff."

"I'm surprised we didn't hear about you," the blond gunman said. "Wait, you said _'you'_ have a sheriff. Did you find your six magnificos?"

Raphael smiled. "My compadres are fewer, I have but three, but Chama is very small, as you are aware."

"Yeah. How'd you know we had trouble?"

"I am friendly with Sheriff Latimer in Rowe. He told me to be watchful of some lawmen from Four Corners coming through the area with a prisoner. I decided to come out and watch for you," he said as he looked at Buck. "Clayton, Sheriff Latimer, said that one of your men was sick and that you would be moving slowly. I know this area well, and I guessed that this would be the most likely place for an ambush."

Nathan overheard the last of the explanation. He said, "We're grateful to you. The timing was, as Ezra would say, 'impeccable'," the healer said, mimicking the southerner's silky accent, the deep tone amusing to them all. He picked up a cup and poured himself some coffee. Buck opened the flask and the former slave happily offered his mug to be topped off.

"How's Ezra?"

Nathan sighed. "He's hurtin'. From what Buck and J.D. have said, Ezra seemed to be recovering from the food poisoning. But he's got some deep bruising. I think that first punch got 'im on tender muscles from being sick so much, stunned 'im, which gave that … man," Nathan said, showing great restraint in settling for that description, "a chance to lay into him. He's not gonna be able to ride."

"The travois is not going to make it to Chama," Raphael said. "Maybe I can take your sheriff back to my town and retrieve a wagon."

"That's gonna take a while, ain't it?" Buck asked.

Raphael smiled. "I know a shortcut."

Chris smiled, too. "All right. Can you get there tonight?"

"We can. And then we will come to retrieve your man in the morning."

"All right."

"Do you need a doctor?" Raphael asked, no condescension intended in asking the question of the healer.

"Do you have one? I wouldn't mind having him looked at by a real doctor. His belly doesn't feel wrong, but I'm just a healer."

"You ain't _'just'_ a healer, Nate," Buck said in the former slave's defense. The Mexican nodded faintly as he listened to the exchange. He was proud to say that the men he worked with were quickly developing the same type of relationships that these men of Four Corners shared.

"We have a doctor. We share him with Durango, Colorado, where his daughter and her family live. He is with us this week. I do not believe he leaves before the end of the week. He spends two weeks in Chama every other month, and one week those months in between. And we have a nurse who was in the war who helps when Dr. Wharton is not available."

"Well, I would like him to look at Ezra, just to make sure we are doing everything we can for him."

"What are we doing for him, exactly?" Chris asked. Before Nathan could answer, J.D. joined them.

"Whew. All the horses are fed, watered, unsaddled and comfortable. That Gordon brother that you winged, Chris, is tied up to a tree."

"That's great, kid. Now have a cup of coffee before you go back and saddle Milagro and Raphael's horse, and one for that scum over there," Buck said.

"What?"

Buck and Chris laughed at J.D.'s wide eyes, Raphael lowered his head to hide his laugh, and Nathan just shook his head.

Chris explained. "You and Raphael are heading to Chama. He's part of the law there." J.D. looked over to the Mexican. He remembered when Raphael visited Four Corners with that awful Don Paulo. The man made him angry then, though he was probably a little too cocky in the face of what turned out to be a very fast and very accurate gunman.

"I will not shoot your hat," the handsome man from south of the border said.

"Whoo-ee, Raphael. We wish you would," Buck said.

"Damn it, Buck. Don't give him any ideas. I just bought this hat."

"You're going soon so you two, and your prisoner, can get there in time to make sure there's a wagon we can rent for first thing in the morning, make sure the doctor stays until he can see Ezra later tomorrow."

"All right." J.D. had put his hat on his knee when he sat down. Buck grabbed it and tossed it to Chris. Chris tossed the hat in the air, and Raphael drew his gun … and did not fire, letting the hat fall to the ground. Everyone sitting around the fire laughed, except for J.D., and the two men on the other side of the fire.

"That's not funny."

"We are only having fun with you, chiquito," Raphael said.

Chris looked over to Vin. And if looks could kill, Chris Larabee would be dead.

* * *

"You've done everything you can to assure healing, son. I don't think he received any internal damage. He's been sick and run down, and then getting the shit beat out of him. His body is just demanding some time to get better."

"So we should continue with the poultice on his belly, and the tea?" Nathan asked Dr. Wharton. Chris and Buck were with the doctor and Nathan in the small front parlor of the physician's home. The other, more sizable parlor was the examination room. Ezra was in the back room of the house, near the kitchen and the inside bathtub with running water. There was a privy, as well, attached at the back of the building. The doctor was proud of his facility, though he readily admitted that this, the largest building on the north side of town, was a former brothel that had been nicely appointed by its former owner ... and painted, several times over, to get rid of the garish colors.

"Nathan, that poultice you use should ease the bruising and take away some of the pain." The doctor looked from Nathan to Buck and Chris. "You are very fortunate to have a man of Nathan's abilities. Be sure you appreciate that, and take good care of him."

Buck patted the healer on the back. "We don't plan on lettin' 'im go anytime soon, sir," he said with a huge smile.

"But that tea, Nathan? That is just terrible. There's no law says that medicine has to taste like medicine. Let me put together a list of things you can add, depending on the curative ingredients, that'll help that stuff go down easier." Buck and Chris snorted a laugh. Nathan shook his head with a scowl. "It's all right, Nathan. I've been there before." Dr. Wharton smiled as the slight hint of embarrassment evident on Nathan's cheeks, then pointed his thumb back to the room where Ezra slept. "That one give ya trouble about takin' his medicine?" Buck nearly howled with laughter as Chris punched him in the arm, warning him not to wake up the patient.

"He ain't the only one, but he's near the worst one."

"Ezra and Vin, you'd think they were twins about that," Chris said.

"Well, which one of ya is staying with the patient?" the doctor asked. Just a few hours spent in the company of these men and he knew they would not leave their sick or wounded alone.

"Vin's gettin' a bath and something to eat. He'll be staying with him. J.D.'s supposed to make sure he gets a good meal and relaxes some," Buck said as he gave Chris a sidewise glance.

"I tried talking to him," Chris said. "He ain't ready."

"Is there something I need to know about? It's important that I know my … make that, _'our'_ patient, can rest easy," the doctor said as he winked at Nathan. "This Vin isn't going to be trouble, is he?"

Vin was in the wagon when it showed up at the doctor's doorstep, and he'd helped his friend into the examination room. But everyone together in such tight quarters was not sitting well with the tracker, and he was not yet ready to deal with his anger toward Chris. He left. Buck called J.D. over and told him to keep Vin away, that they would come get him when Ezra was settled. The young man took this job seriously, he could tell there was something going on between his two friends. J.D. said he'd make sure he got a bath and that he ate. They all were aware that they wouldn't be able to get the man to sleep, not during the day, not when he would be watching the gambler.

"No," Chris said. "He and Ezra are close. He's mad at me, it's got nothing to do with Ezra."

"'cept it does."

Chris nodded at Nathan's simple interjection, but assured the doctor, "We can't keep him out of here, so he might as well take first watch. One of us will relieve him after supper."

"All right. Then how about if you all go get Vin and I'll check on Ezra. You boys could all use some rest and something to eat, I'm sure."

"Thanks, Doc," Buck said. The three lawmen walked out the door to find Raphael walking towards them.

"How is he?" the Chama lawman asked.

"Bruised, sick. Dosed with some medicine. Sleeping."

"He will be all right?"

Nathan replied this time. "He'll heal. It'll take some time."

Raphael nodded. "I sent a telegram to Santa Fe. I reported the deaths of the two Gordon brothers to the territorial judge."

"Orin Travis?" Chris asked.

"Yes."

"We're very familiar with him. Know him well. He's in Four Corners waiting to put Andy Gordon on trial."

"Now he will have another Gordon to put on trial. This is why it has taken so long to hear back from him. They must have forwarded the message." He pulled out the telegram and saw that the office was Four Corners rather than Santa Fe. "Yes." He folded the message and added, "I have bad news."

"What?" Chris asked.

"Judge Travis has notified me that there is the father and an uncle who are now looking for Gordon. He does not believe they would have found out about the deaths of the two at the undertaker's. But he does believe that these two men were in contact with the two brothers who attacked your men."

Chris looked toward the jail, and then up the dusty road to the small hotel, the only hotel in town, which housed one of several saloons and the only restaurant. Chama was a town near to active mining, and the number of saloons with a couple of rooms for rent above them kept hotel and restaurant proprietors from any interest in setting up shop there. They landed two rooms and an extra cot at the hotel and were happy to get it.

"All right. Nathan, stay here until we get Vin over here." Chris turned to Raphael. "Can you put an extra man at the jail?"

"Of course."

"Buck, after you tell Vin what's happening, quietly, you and J.D. should get some sleep."

"You got it, old pard," the ladies' man said as he headed for the hotel.

"Señor Larabee … "

"Call me Chris."

"Chris, if these men see the area where the two dead ones made their stand, they will know someone, or more, were killed. They will head here, to check on wounded or dead."

"Yeah. We'll need to make a stand here, then." The two men kept eye contact, then Chris said, "Sorry to bring this mess to your town."

Raphael smiled. "It is not as though I did not do the same, bringing trouble to yours."

"Maybe. You weren't really the problem back then."

"And neither are you or your men today."

"Fair enough. So, your town. What do you want us to do?"

"Allow me to buy you a drink while we discuss it." The leader of The Magnificent Seven and the leader of Los Cuatro Magníficos headed to the hotel saloon for a drink.

* * *

A cough and then a moan from the bed had the tracker up from his seat in a flash.

"Ezra?"

The card sharp lay on his side, taking calming breaths as the cough had sent what seemed like shards of rock across his stomach. "What?"

"Ez, ya'all right?"

Ezra placed his hand on his stomach, but pulled it away as though his hand was burned. "Wh … What happened?" he asked as Vin poured him a glass of water. He swiped his hand down his face and then said, "Nevah mind. Ah remembah."

"Do you want a drink of water?"

"Ah would, but Ah cannot sit up."

"Want me ta help ya?" the worried Texan asked.

"No, Ah mean Ah do not believe Ah can stand to sit up." The door opened behind Vin, who turned quickly, his mare's leg in his hands.

"Sorry. I heard voices. I thought I would come in and check on the patient," Dr. Wharton said.

"I'm sorry, Doc," Vin said as he lowered the weapon, resting it on the edge of Ezra's bed.

"No, no. I should have knocked." The physician turned to his patient. "How are you feeling."

"He ain't feelin' too good," Vin answered with a yawn. "'scuse me. His belly's hurtin' 'im somethin' awful. He's thirsty, but he can't sit up fer a drink. This is Doc Wharton, Ez."

"Vin, Ah can speak for mahself," Ezra complained. "Ah assume Ah was not cognizant when we first met?"

"That's one way of putting it," the doctor smiled.

"And Vin, you should sit down. When was the last time you slept?"

"Weren't that long ago."

"Maybe that is true, but you most likely slept only an hour or two last night. You have had two very long days."

"Sit in that chair while I check out your friend, son," the doctor said to the tracker. Vin sat down, his way of conceding that he was, indeed, tired.

"He's thirsty," the long-haired lawman reminded the only two men in the room, both men fully aware of that fact and that only moments had passed since the doctor entered the room.

"Vin … "

"I can help with that." The doctor went to a drawer and pulled out a small wooden box. It measured about ten inches and had leather hook and eye to hold it shut. He quickly had the leather apart and opened the container. He reached in and pulled out what looked like a dried stem of grass. "I have a friend in Denver who forages in the woods and fields for various plants that we use for medical treatments. He travels to the islands, he has been to South America. He also occasionally finds some 'medicinal' mushrooms." Vin and Ezra looked at each other, understanding the special emphasis the doctor had placed on the word. "He brought these wide, well, relatively-speaking, hollow reeds back from one trip. They are from a grass that, when overgrown, becomes thick, and can be used to suck water out of a glass. You may be familiar with rye grass straws?"

"No," Vin said.

"Yes," Ezra said at the same time. "Mah … " Ezra continued, but his dry throat brought on another cough. "That hurts," he said. The doctor took the glass that Vin had poured and brought a shorter one and the straw. "Mah understandin' was that their use came with an unpleasant taste."

"That's true. This does not. Here," Dr. Wharton said as he held the glass for Ezra and aimed the straw in his mouth. "Take a sip. It's not a real wide opening," he added, telling Ezra without saying that he might have to try once or twice before he got the draw right. It took him only one attempt, and the parched gambler took advantage, taking a substantial amount of the water in the glass. "That's good. Let's make sure that stays put."

"Oh, lord. Ah forgot about the food poisoning."

"Don't worry about that. Your friends said that you had been vomiting less as the day went on yesterday. Besides, now that you are awake, you will be eating something."

"Ah cannot possibly … "

"Yes you can. You would be feeling better by now if you had eaten a little bit of food."

"Mah moments of sickness would have been more unpleasant."

"Yep, you're right." The doctor took the glass and set it on the counter near the far door. There was the main door to the room from the parlor, and then the back door that provided easy access to the kitchen. The doctor turned back and said, "I'm going to examine your stomach. I want to make sure there is no hardness, which would indicate an injury inside. And I need to take a look at your bruises to see how Nathan's poultice is working."

"Ah have one of Mistah Jackson's poultices on mah stomach? That is peculiar, Ah don't smell it."

The doctor laughed. His laugh was contagious, and he had Vin laughing with him in no time. "Your Mr. Jackson is a very accomplished healer but, until now, he did not have the knowledge of the medical community, which has learned that making the cure more palatable, both the ingested cures and the topical ones, can have a beneficial effect on the patient."

Ezra turned to look at Vin. "Have Ah _not_ been sayin' that for several years?"

"Yep, ya have," the grinning Texan said.

"Good lord, all the unnecessary suffering … "

"Don't be too hard on him," Dr. Wharton said. "He's just about the best healer I have worked with. And he was … " the doctor paused, and then continued, " _fairly_ welcoming to the idea of using appropriate ingredients to buffer the bad smell or taste in the future."

"Fairly? Hah. Tormentor."

"Don't be like that, Ez. We give 'im a hard time. Ain't too surprisin' that he don't go to any extra effort to make it better for us."

"Ah only give him a hard time because his cures are so vile!" The extra flexing of his diaphragm caused Ezra to moan in pain as the effort necessary to raise his voice stretched muscles up and down his abdomen.

"All right. Don't get all upset."

"Do you want Vin to remain while I examine you?"

"He doesn't get a choice. I'm stayin'."

"Mah bodyguard has spoken."

"Let's get started then. I'm going to help you lay flat. Don't do anything, just relax. I'll take care of easing you to your back." Ezra tensed, knowing he would feel pain, but he did as he was told. In just moments, the southerner was laying on his back, his head raised by a comfortable feather pillow. He breathed deeply as he willed himself to tolerate the pain. "Are you all right, Ezra?"

"Yes. Ah mean to clarify, it hurts, but Ah expected that it would."

"I'm sorry to say that it will hurt for a while." The doctor pulled the blanket down and reached to pull the many times washed and very soft nightshirt up. Ezra kept his eyes open, but looked away from the goings-on at his aching, throbbing stomach. It was the best way for him to ignore what he knew was coming, a kind doctor trying not to torture him, but knowing full well that the pressing on his bruises and bruised and stretched muscles could put him very near to passing out. As the first push into his stomach happened, Ezra closed his eyes, but that wasn't going to work. Though he didn't want to see what was happening, he felt more in control keeping his eyes open. When he opened his eyes, he saw the door ajar … and a gun the first thing coming into the room.

"Move!" Ezra yelled as he picked up the mare's leg and shoved the doctor to the side. He pulled the lever, lowering the bullet to the chamber, and fired as the first Gordon entered the room. The gambler had failed to account for the shorter weapon's powerful action, having never fired the weapon before. The gun pushed into his stomach. He yelped loudly and started to drop the cut-down Winchester. Vin saw the trouble Ezra was in and took advantage of the man in the doorway falling back into his partner. He grabbed his weapon, pushed the doctor farther to the floor, and prepared to fire. Nobody else came through the door, but the former buffalo hunter heaved a sigh of relief when he heard the voice calling from the other side.

"Vin?" Chris yelled.

"We're all right!" Vin called back.

"That," the doctor said as he placed his arm on the bed and raised himself to a standing position, "is a matter of opinion."

"Ah con … cur," Ezra said. The poker player was laying on his side once more, his arms wrapped across his middle.

Dr. Wharton moved to his patient. "Let me see, young man." Chris walked in the room, followed closely by Nathan.

"The other one out there?" Vin asked.

"Yep. One of Raphael's men knocked him in the back of the head with his gun. He's tied up as we speak and he'll be hauled to the jail."

"Good."

"Ezra?" Chris asked.

"No." The former gunslinger could tell that the 'no' was not meant for him.

"Come on, now," the doctor insisted.

"No," Ezra growled.

"Ezra!" Chris said. He didn't have to say anything further. But this time, Ezra closed his eyes, and didn't bother opening them for the next half hour. And even then, he took his medicine, which was not disgusting, and moaned his way back to sleep.

The doctor looked at Vin and Chris, then turned to Nathan. Then he turned back to the sleeping lawman and Dr. Wharton said, "Aw hell, he didn't eat."

"He's sneaky like that," Nathan explained. The doctor just stood there and shook his head along with the patient's three friends.

* * *

"Ah can ride mah horse," Ezra argued.

"No you can't." It was a chorus, a unanimous chorus of Chris, Nathan, Vin, and Doc Wharton. Raphael Cordova de Martinez was there, too, but he just chuckled lightly, shook his head, and lowered it as he sat back with his arms folded across his chest. The men had just finished an early supper, because Nathan and the doctor insisted that Ezra needed to get more rest. They only agreed to this sojourn to the restaurant because Ezra had expressed, finally, a desire for a meal of substance … in a whiny, very non-Ezra Standish sort of way. None of them had the heart to say no, especially the two men of medicine who wished to see the gambler eat a nourishing meal.

"What is it that you find so amusing, Señor Martinez?"

Raphael raised his head. "You are very funny, señor. You act as though you had a hope of success, even as you accepted Señor Jackson's assistance as you climbed the steps into the hotel."

"Yes. Well …." Ezra left them all hanging as he took another bite of his stew. A friend of the doctor had a large cattle ranch up in Colorado. Doc Wharton made sure that the town had regular deliveries of beef. The meat had simmered for a few hours in onions and spices. It smelled heavenly to all of the men as they walked into the restaurant. The gravy that was made with the pan juices was accompanied by potatoes and some crusty, aromatic bread. The card sharp was grateful that Nathan had the foresight to tell the waitress to make his bowl less full. Both Nathan and Doc Martin were pleased to see that Ezra was well on his way to finishing his meal.

"Don't worry none, Ez. Judge is headin' here first thing with Josiah. Don't make sense ta wait ta have the trial. Josiah was the best witness, anyway. Chris was the only other one who saw anything. Gives ya a chance ta heal some 'fore headin' back home."

Buck and J.D. headed out for Four Corners earlier in the day, at sunrise. They would get home as the sun set. Chris wanted to make sure someone was watching the town, and he also agreed with the judge that there was no reason to hold off on the trial, especially since a trial was now needed for two Gordons instead of one, just not the one Travis expected. Both had pulled their weapons and fired their guns, even though the one who shot into the doctor's office was knocked unconscious, his bullet flying well over anyone's head. There was definitely intent in both men's actions to make someone dead.

Dr. Wharton's room was where a healing Ezra spent the last two full days. His food poisoning had definitely resolved itself. His stomach was a different story, and not like the last few days' intestinal troubles. His movement was halting, at best, his muscles still unable to handle too much. The professional poker player was itching to get in a game, but sitting up for longer than an hour was not, as his friends found pleasure in joking, 'in the cards'. The doctor and the healer finally agreed to allow Ezra to take the available room at the back of the hotel, which they agreed would encourage Ezra to eat more. They also knew that it would encourage him to sit at a poker table, which was why Vin remained in town: someone had to watch out for the man who perpetually seemed disinclined to watch out for himself.

"Ah suppose Ah must take advantage of this time, then." They all knew what he meant.

"Mr. Standish, you will not be able to sit at a table long enough to make it worthwhile."

"Ah believe, Dr. Wharton, that such a determination would be mah call to make."

"You don't make no sense sometimes," Vin grumbled.

"Mistah Tanner … "

"He's just concerned that you don't hurt yourself if you can avoid it," Nathan said.

"Let us change the subject. Señor Martinez, are there any more known miscreants in the Gordon family that we need concern ourselves with?"

"None that we know about. That does not mean that they do not exist. I have sent a telegram to several newspapers in the territory, including to Señora Travis. We hope that we may become more certain of that as we hear back from them. Our knowledge is from Santa Fe, and they chose to be less than definitive in their telegram."

"That's not too surprising."

"Well, well," Dr. Wharton said. "It appears that you have finished your supper. Well done, young man." Ezra made no effort to hide his disdain at the comment. "Let's get you to bed."

"Ah am not goin' to bed. Ah am an adult and Ah will do as Ah choose." The card sharp made to stand, and found himself forced to grab the table and stop moving in order to attempt to bear the pain resonating throughout the middle section of his body. As expected, everyone waited to see if he would ask for help, and as expected, the stubborn man did not. He straightened, first his body, and then his fancy haberdashery, and left the table, making his way, steady but carefully, toward the saloon.

"Why is he like that?" Raphael asked.

Chris, Nathan and Vin shared knowing looks. Vin answered. "It's a long story."

"But it's not our story to tell," Nathan said sadly, looking at his friends.

"Suffice it to say that you'd understand if you ever met his mother."

Dr. Wharton and Raphael nodded in understanding.

Vin stood. "I'm gonna go watch 'im."

Nathan stood, too. "He's had a long day. He's tried to act like he's all right, and he ain't."

The doctor and the leader of Chama's lawmen also both stood from the dining table. "He won't even last an hour. He needs more rest. If I was a betting man, which I am not, but I do know my business, I'd say he will be dozing in fifteen, twenty minutes at best now that he has a real meal in him. I'll follow you all in."

"I will stop in to the telegraph office. I am hopeful that there is good news that we have the last of the Gordons in my jail."

* * *

Ezra could hear what sounded like an earthquake. Or maybe it as the rumbling of a train coming down a track. There was the chance it was a stampede heading straight for him. The deep reverberation of sound was disturbing, especially in light of his seeming inability to open his eyes to seek out for himself if he was in any danger. He didn't seem to be feeling the actual trembling of the earth from a quake, the jarring movement from the train, or the faint feel of the ground simmering to movement that he had felt from a stampede, an event that he somehow managed to experience more than once now that he lived out in the desert Southwest. But was he still living in the desert Southwest? It wasn't a place especially known for earthquakes, though the other two were regular features nowadays.

Ezra moved to get up. Maybe if he forced himself to move he would be able to force himself awake. He heard a moan. _'Uh-oh. What was that?'_

"Stay down, Ez."

 _Vin._

"What …." Ezra said, but that was all he got out as he became much more concerned with the fire going on in his belly. He tried to curl in on himself, but familiar hands were having none of that.

"Don't do that, Ezra."

 _Nathan._

"Ah … hurt," the former con man said. _Oh, hell, did he hurt._

He felt a large, callused hand on his forehead. "Take it easy, son."

 _Josiah._ But Josiah wasn't due in until late tomorrow.

"J'siah?"

"Yeah." Ezra moved his head back and forth, trying to dislodge the hand from his sore, hot head.

"No." He reached to remove the hand, but his arm seemed a dead weight next to him. "Earthquake." Ezra tried to lift his arm again, still couldn't, and moaned. "Hot." He started to fade back to sleep, heard the rumbling again. "Train."

"What's he tryin' to say?"

 _Chris._

"Chris?"

The hand disappeared from his forehead, he sensed movement, heard the rumbling once again. "Stampede," and then sensed a lighter touch on his arm.

"Ezra, you awake?" the leader of Four Corners' peacekeepers asked.

Ezra's eyes moved under the dead weight of his eyelids. He tried to open them, but his expectations for success were pretty slim. He kept them shut.

"Mr. Standish, you should open your eyes."

Ezra tried again. He had more success this time, but everything was a blur. He knew it was Chris seated beside him, and the fuzzy giant standing behind him was Josiah. That visual easily explained the earthquake, train, stampede deliriums from earlier. Maybe not the best word choice, but everything seemed very strange at the moment.

"Mr. Standish?"

"Mah apol … " Ezra started, but his dry throat caught on the word and he coughed, tried to stop because the pain in his belly was intense.

"Have a drink, Ez. It's water, with one o' them straws." Vin tapped the straw on the recumbent man's lips. Ezra would not be helping in the drinking this time, as he had been able to do the last time, if only a little. Vin lowered the glass so that they were both at the right level for the southerner to manage a drink. The Texan pulled the glass away. "I'll give ya more in a minute."

"What happened?"

"Well, it seems that you had some internal damage after all," the doctor explained as he palpated the sick man's stomach. Ezra grunted through the procedure, and sighed heavily when the man finished poking and prodding. "Probably from that hard hit from Vin's gun." The doctor turned to the former bounty hunter and said, "Do not blame yourself. If anyone was to blame, it would be me." Nathan seemed ready to defend the doctor. Dr. Wharton turned to the healer and said, "I am not going to dwell on it; sometimes these things happen." He turned back to his patient. "You were bleeding internally, and when you went to play poker the other day, you remained in a position which, thankfully as it turned out, increased the action of the bleed. You passed out at the table." Ezra stared, and then realization came to the pale visage. Dr. Wharton saw it, noticed the reaction of his friends, who all seemed upset and irritated at the same time, and said, "You were experiencing more and more pain while you were sitting there, weren't you?"

"Ah was … " Nathan cut him off and jumped in, angry.

"Damn it, Ezra. How many times do I have to tell you … "

"Nathan." Josiah's booming voice cut off his friend. Nathan stopped immediately as he realized now was not the time to chastise the sick man, certainly not in front of the doctor and, as it turned out, now that Ezra's eyes had cleared their focus, Raphael.

"Ezra, what were you gonna say?" Chris asked gently. The former con man and card player with the notorious poker face was unable to hide his appreciation for Chris' consideration.

"What Ah was going to say is that Ah was in pain, and that it did feel worse. But the ache had been coming and going, or maybe it was just that some areas of pain made themselves known depending on how Ah turned, even how Ah breathed." Ezra turned to Nathan and the physician, a man who most certainly had saved his life. "Ah did not _feel_ as though there was anything different truly happening that Ah had not been tolerating already." His earnestness, and his obvious desire to assure the two men before him that he did not blame either of them for any of what had transpired, moved everyone in the room

"I can see how that might be," Nathan conceded.

"As we discussed, Nathan, it was better that this happened when it did rather than overnight," the doctor reminded them all. "You recall what we talked about, he was not going to stay here that night. He was going to be in that room."

"But I was gonna be with 'im," Vin said.

"You were, Vin, but you might've been asleep when he started feelin' bad, and then you would've had to hope that you woke up someone to go get the doc," Nathan said. "It might have been … "

Ezra interrupted. "You are saying that Ah might have died last night? Ah mean, I had surmised, maybe, but …. " As he truly understood what might have been, Ezra paled even further.

"Señores, maybe it would be good to allow Señor Standish to rest," Raphael suggested. "And I believe that all of you must be hungry, and maybe a bath would be … desired?"

Ezra laughed, moaned, and then stopped himself from laughing. Still amused, and with a smile adorning his still-pale face, which was both good to see and a little disturbing at the same time, the gambler said, "When Ah was waking and wonderin' what the loud rumbling was," he added as he eyed Josiah with a raised brow, "Ah wondered how Ah could have gotten all the way back to Mistah Jackson's clinic without knowin' about it. There is certainly a familiar aroma in the room."

"Everybody out," Dr. Wharton said, "including you, Vin." The doctor knew that the man in the buckskins was at the bath house a few days ago, but you would never know it. _'That hide needed a cleaning,'_ the good doctor thought to himself. He turned to Raphael. "Would you sit with Mr. Standish until I return and these gentlemen get their baths and a good meal? I have to go see to Mrs. Pritchett."

"Of course."

Chris patted Ezra's right arm, as Vin gave his left shoulder an affectionate squeeze. Josiah patted his friend's lower leg as he headed to the door. Nathan did the same, and then said, staring intently into Ezra's eyes, "Rest."

"Yes, suh." Ezra smiled, so did Nathan, and the four lawmen departed with the doctor.

"Señor … "

"You are to rest," Raphael said. "But if you are going to insist on conversation, you should call me Raphael."

"Señor … "

"Raphael, or we do not talk."

"Fine," Ezra said with annoyance. "Raphael, did Ah understand correctly? This … event, at the poker table, this happened … "

"Not last evening, but two evenings before."

"Good lord! Ah have been unconscious the entire time?"

"You have been in and out, señor, but Dr. Wharton said you would not remember those waking moments."

"Ah do not. When did Josiah arrive?"

"With the judge, he arrived late the day before yesterday." Raphael knew what the next question would be. "The trials were yesterday. Judge Travis called for a jury, our town was lined up to volunteer. Each man was found guilty of his crimes. The sentences were twenty years for each. One of them will be sent to Yuma, the other will serve his sentence in Laramie."

"That was wise," Ezra said, followed by a yawn. "Mah apologies," he said through the hand that covered his mouth. He dropped his arm tiredly to the bed.

"You are tired. We will talk no further."

"Ah can continue."

"There is nothing more to say, except … "

"What?" Ezra asked.

"You thought that Señor Sanchez was an earthquake, or a train or a stampede?"

"You have not heard the man snore. In mah disoriented state, Ah was certain that Ah was in mortal danger. Are you the only one who made the observation?"

"I believe that Mister Tanner," Raphael started, but seeing Ezra's eyes blinking sluggishly, he slowed down his speech and lowered his voice. He had used his voice to similar effect to put his two nieces in Mexico to sleep. Maybe he could get this man to rest sooner if he did the same. "Vin," he switched from the more formal moniker, "he asked me to call him Vin. I believe Vin also realized what you were speaking of. I am certain that Chris and Señor Sanchez were unaware. They were both very," Raphael said as he watched the lawman close his eyes, and keep them closed, a slight smile on his face. "They were very worried, I believe they thought it was nothing more than delirium. The doctor certainly did not understand. Señor Jackson …. " Raphael could hear the steady breaths of sleep from the man in the bed. Satisfied that he had done what he was supposed to do, he removed the chair from beside the bed, moved it to just behind the southern man's head – facing the door – sat down and rested his palm on the handle of this gun.

* * *

"You sure you're ready to get on your horse?" Chris asked.

"Ah will be fine."

"We'll take it easy," Vin said. They watched as Josiah walked up to them, leading his horse by the reins. "Judge get on the stage all right?"

"He did. Where's Nathan?"

"Our fine healer is spending a few more moments with the good doctor," Ezra answered. "Ah, here he comes now. Mistah Jackson, how was your breakfast with Dr. Wharton?"

Nathan looked up from his notebook as he approached. He folded it and placed it in his saddlebag. "Good, it was good," he answered distractedly. He gave Ezra a critical look, up and down, and then back up, giving the still pale face a good once-over. "You sure you're ready to get on your horse?"

Ezra turned to Chris, who returned a wry smile before lowering his head, hiding his laughing eyes under the wide brim of his hat. The card sharp turned back to the former slave, and his good friend. He smiled and said, "Ah will be fine." He heard Vin offer a mild snort of laughter before he turned and mounted his horse.

Chris walked over to Raphael, who had been watching the back and forth between these men. As he did so, Josiah turned to Vin. "Ezra, Nate and me are gonna stick to the rear. You and Chris need to talk."

"We don't."

"Ah do not know what the troubles are between yourself and our leader, Vin," Ezra said, though no one present really believed that, "but there is something awry. Our ride will be long. You most certainly should take advantage of that to talk it out," the southerner said with a serious look, then added with a faint grin, "whatever _it_ is." Vin looked over to Chris as he stood speaking with Raphael. He nodded, knowing that it was the right thing to do.

At the jail's boardwalk, Chris said, "I want to thank you, for everything you and your men have done."

"It is my job."

"Well, you do it well. You've got a good team here. And a nice little piece of heaven."

"No, my little piece of heaven is outside of town, at the base of that mountain," the Mexican replied, nodding his head to the high peak to their left. "It is small, but it is mine."

"Do you get out there often?"

"Not often enough."

"I hear ya. Well, we should go. Thanks," Chris said, offering his hand. The leader of the small group of lawmen who protected the town of Chama reached his hand out. The men shook hands, firmly, friendly.

"We are only a long day's ride from Four Corners. And with our new telegraph office, we are only a telegram away, if you require assistance," Raphael offered.

"And we can return the offer. You remember that. You should come back for a visit," Chris suggested.

"Who knows what tomorrow brings," Raphael said. Both men smiled widely. Chris turned to see all of his men in their saddles.

"Let's ride."

The End.


End file.
